


Never too early...

by Blackbirdsonthemarsh



Series: Transformers: Mirror Mirror [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misfire has the same grasp on romance as a lobotomized gnat, Mutual Pining, Shattered Glass, both of these two are different blends of stupid, i took actual canon out back and shot it like old yeller, oh by the way this is my own canon, when two idiots love each other very much dumb shit happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbirdsonthemarsh/pseuds/Blackbirdsonthemarsh
Summary: As if waiting for the most dramatic moment possible, as soon as the Seeker stood, the doors to the room slid open with an angry hiss, and Fulcrum stomped into the room. His wings were hiked high, and glowing blue Energon oozed from several wounds.“Fulcrum— what in the name of Unicron did you do?!”“Whaddaya think?”It was never too early in the morning for recklessness and stupidity, it seemed.
Relationships: Fulcrum/Misfire (Transformers)
Series: Transformers: Mirror Mirror [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891849
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Never too early...

**Author's Note:**

> Just to alert you, this one-shot takes place in an original continuity called Transformers: Mirror Mirror. It’s a shattered glass continuity not particularly based on any one series. All you really need to know is:
> 
> Misfire goes by Flyhigh in this, as instead of having shit aim, he’s got borderline supernatural aim. He’s a sniper with electronic paint that he uses to camouflage while on missions (hence the main nickname Fulcrum gives him, Camouflage). He’s typically quite serious and more than a little gruff, but he cares a lot about Fulcrum, harboring feelings for him. Unfortunately he can be a lil dense in regards to romance, and not notice obvious flirting.
> 
> Fulcrum is not a bomb, instead being a sci-fi biplane (throw an X-Wing, a Viggen and a Berkut in a blender, that’s his alt). He’s brash, rude, and very fight-happy. He’s fond of starting fights with bigger and meaner bots, especially if they provoke him. He’s orange, black, and cream. 
> 
> They are roommates not on the WAP, but on the Victory (basically the Nemesis but with a different name). 
> 
> You can find more context for this fan-continuity on Tumblr at @transformers-mirror-mirror

The day had just begun, and already, he’d disappeared. 

Flyhigh grumbled in irritation, his ashy gray wings giving an irate flick. Fulcrum had been cleared from the medbay quite literally the day before. The medics had bade him do only one thing— rest. What did the biplane do? Completely piss on that suggestion, apparently. Flyhigh probably should have expected this — when did Fulcrum ever listen to anything? Or anyone? It was almost endearing how few frags he gave about anything anyone in authority said. It seemed that today Flyhigh would have to find Fulcrum and drag him back to their room kicking, spitting and swearing so that he could finish up the resting he’d been ordered to do. 

Or so it seemed.

As if waiting for the most dramatic moment possible, as soon as the Seeker stood, the doors to the room slid open with an angry hiss, and Fulcrum stomped into the room. His wings were hiked high, and glowing blue Energon oozed from several wounds on his frame.

“Fulcrum— what in the name of Unicron did you do?!” Flyhigh rushed to his side, shepherding the smaller mech over to the berth.

It was never too early in the morning for recklessness and stupidity, it seemed.

“Whaddaya think, Camouflage?” Fulcrum grumbled out Flyhigh’s nickname as he plonked down on his berth. Despite the fact that he was currently bleeding from several cuts across his torso and arm, he seemed more annoyed than anything else. “Woke up, an’ saw you recharging like a sparkling. Went for a walk, saw that some mechs were kicking the slag out of each other, an’ joined in out of boredom.” Typical Fulcrum behavior. “It got broken up ‘fore I could do any real damage to the other guys.” Ah, so this is why he was annoyed. Not his injuries. He paused for a second, shifting to allow Flyhigh a better look at his injuries. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, self-repair’ll prolly handle these. If on the off-chance it doesn’t, I’ve got a big strong seeker roommate to carry me to the medbay.”

Flyhigh let out a long sigh that sounded more like a hiss. “Is that why you went here and not to the medics?” The Seeker quickly snatched a welder and some rags off the shelf beside Fulcrum’s berth. Thank Unicron he’d bothered to learn how to use one of these things during his academy days. The wounds weren’t too serious and most certainly would take care of themselves, but welding the things shut would help them heal faster. That, and seeing Fulcrum bleeding made his tanks churn in ways he didn’t like.

“Yeah, that and half of ‘em hate my guts.” Fulcrum flashed a smile when he saw Flyhigh grab the welder. “Gonna fix me up, flymech? I’m touched.” Fulcrum’s four wings gave an adorable (by Flyhigh’s standards) little wiggle.

“And I’m going to beat you over the head with this unless you pipe down.” Flyhigh replied gruffly. With an uncharacteristic gentleness, he wiped off some of the Energon splattered around Fulcrum’s wounds. It bothered him to see Fulcrum hurt. Why was this mech so reckless? 

Fulcrum let out an exaggerated gasp of fright. “Oh no, what am I, a helpless wound mech at the mercy of a bloodthirsty Seeker to do in response to this utterly terrible threat?” He moved to bring his servo to his forehelm, but he halted midway, letting out a staticky hiss of pain. “Frag— Okay. Yeah. Something there might need attention. Ow.” 

Flyhigh replied only with a deadpan stare as he began repairing Fulcrum’s injuries. No slag something needed attention.

“Aaaaaand you’ve gone back to beinf quiet and looking grumpy.” Fulcrum pouted. “Did ya use up your daily words threatening me?” When Flyhigh did not dignify his comment with a reply, Fulcrum broke the silence once more, sounding more... sincere. “Thanks, I guess.” He scrunched up his face in pain when the welder’s flame touched a sensitive area. “For doing uhh. That. I... appreciate it a bunch.”

Flyhigh quirked an eyebrow ridge. “If you truly appreciate my efforts, you will stop doing things that make them necessary.” 

“Oh but Flyhigh, if I don’t get in trouble, how will I ever get a dashing jet to rescue me?” The orange and black mech gave an exaggerated frown, batting his optics.

“My threat still stands.”

Fulcrum rolled his optics. “I’m quaking in my plating. Can’t you see me trembling? Oh, and—” the welder strayed too close to another sensory cluster, “ff—fffrrraaaaaag you’re bad at this! Slag! Ow!” Fulcrum cursed some more, trying to squirm away from Flyhigh.

“If you don’t like the job I’m doing, I can carry you to the medbay and let them fix you up.” Flyhigh said plainly. “I would much rather we do that.”

Fulcrum scoffed. “I’m sure they’ll just love my ass being dropped in the very fraggin’ day after I was cleared. No way. I am not getting bitched at by both the medics and the commanders in one week. One annoying lecture is enough for me.”

“In my opinion, being ‘bitched at’ as you put it, is worth you getting properly repaired.” The Seeker commented, not taking his optics off his work. Irritation mixed with concern in him. Fulcrum was a reckless mech, finding trouble wherever he could, and starting it whenever he failed to find any, but his tomfoolery had become endearing. While Fulcrum had... somehow... earned Flyhigh’s friendship and... affection, he had clawed his way into the bad graces of quite literally every medic on the flagship of the Decepticons’ fleet. Mostly for giving them extra work to do, both on himself and those who provoked him into a fight. Flyhigh found he couldn’t exactly blame Fulcrum for not wanting to visit them... especially since they’d report this to Thundercracker. 

Their squadron leader loved to look the other way when fights broke out — much to Flyhigh’s chagrin for a multitude of reasons, least of all the amount of times mecha went after Fulcrum and went unpunished — but the commander of their wing, Thundercracker, most certainly did not. While Flyhigh could understand Fulcrum’s choice to avoid the medbay, he didn’t condone it. “I’m not good at this. The medics hate you—“

“—well you’re being extra harsh today.” Fulcrum fake-pouted. “I’m hurt.” 

“But they will still treat you. I don’t want you coming back here hurt again.” Flyhigh’s posture didn’t give away any emotion, but he accidentally let concern slip into his voice. “You’re important to me.” He grumbled. “Even if you’re idiotic.”

The biplane raised an eyebrow ridge at what Flyhigh said, his lips forming a smile. “Aww, do you care about me, butterfly? That’s sweet of ya, grumpjet.” His wings flittered happily. “I’d give you a thank-you kiss if you weren’t currently holding an open flame to my wounds.” 

Flyhigh paused, blinking a handful of times. Did— did he just— what— Flyhigh knew that, logically, it was impossible for his spark to stop and him to still function, but he felt like it just had anyway. Actually, it felt more like it had shifted from his chest to his tanks and was currently rattling around in there. Thankfully, he had shut the welder off in time to prevent burning Fulcrum. 

Fulcrum giggled. “You good there, camo? You’re looking like your processor just crashed.” 

The Seeker blinked a handful of times. When his spark finally stilled (it didn’t feel like it had returned to his chest), he replied. “I.... find your sense of humor to be incomprehensible.”

With a roll of his optics, Fulcrum replied. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, seeing as its coming from you, the most adorable humorless mech in the galaxy. Okay, maybe Krok’s a little less humorless. Oh, thanks again, this time for not lighting my cuts on fire when you blanked right there. Byyyyy the way— has anyone told you that you look real fraggin’ cute when you’re surprised?” 

Flyhigh paused, flustered once again, resetting his vocalizer to avoid stuttering something out that he didn’t want to. His spark had gone back to fluttering around in his tanks. “Has—has anyone informed you that your chatterbox tendencies are... irritating?” Brilliant thing to say, Flyhigh. Fulcrum must be joking around again. Unless he wasn’t... no, he likely was. Flyhigh didn’t notice himself zoning out until Fulcrum’s voice snapped him back to reality

“Everyone says that ‘bout me, Camouflage. I’ve been ‘informed’ of it by nearly every mech I’ve met— and half of ‘em try and yoink my vocalizer out right after. Wait, no, actually— some try and bash my head in. Guess it’s to add variety. I’m very much aware of how annoying it is, flymech, and I very, very, very much do not care. Now, are you gonna keep fixing me, ooooor are ya gonna continue admiring my plating? I’m fine with either.” 

Flyhigh snapped back to focus, realizing he indeed had been staring at Fulcrum’s plating. “I am not admiring your plating you—“ Flyhigh began, before he shut his mouth and grabbed the rag he’d set down earlier. Only the smallest injury was still open, it wouldn’t take long. Then he could end this conversation and Fulcrum could get to resting. 

“I’m not judging, I admire yours often—“ Fulcrum’s smug smirk only grew with Flyhigh’s confused and flustered expression. “Hey, don’t blame me, you look good, grumpjet. Even with a frown— makes ya look dark and brooding. Oh, and your wings are adorable— makes ya look like a butterfly from behind. A grumpy and growls butterfly, though. Regardless— you’re a handsome idiot.” 

“Why are you like this...” Flyhigh muttered. Fulcrum’s sense of humor was truly beyond him. The Seeker felt the sensation of butterflies in his tanks— Fulcrum looked unbearably cute when he smirked like that. The Seeker gently sealed the wound on his smaller companion, trying to stay focused as Fulcrum giggled, and his own face felt hot. 

“Like what?” The biplane replied innocently, blinking up at him with big blue optics. “I’m not doing anythiiing.” 

When Flyhigh turned off the welder and got up to put it back on the shelf, he heard a trill of complaint come from Fulcrum. The Seeker turned to face the smaller mech. “Are you alright, Fulcrum? Do you require anything else?”

“No no, I’m fiiiine. Peachy. Just go over there to your side of the room and leave me by myself.” Fulcrum crossed his arms as best he could with his injuries. His face was twisted into a pouty expression. “Alone. Over here.”

Flyhigh tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Is there something wrong?”

Fulcrum tapped his chin. “Hmmm, maybe the fact that I’m a little lonely all by myself here, and kinda cold, and want something to snuggle up to...” he let out a yawn. “And I’m a little bit tired, something to cuddle while I rest would be nice...”

“You can always borrow my berth’s pillows, if you need them.” Flyhigh replied, gesturing to his berth. “You should know that by now.” 

Fulcrum stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. His striped wings even drooped a little bit. 

Flyhigh’s head tilted further. What? He’d just offered a solution? What else did Fulcrum want? 

Fulcrum let out a long, theatrical groan and flopped back down on his berth, leaving his legs hanging off the edge. “You doooo know I’m prolly gonna get,” his sentence was interrupted by a long yawn, “fuckin’ bored and leave again, right?” He gave his wings a shake. 

“Since you happen to be the only mech I know who refuses to stay bedridden, I am fully aware of what will occur if you wake up alone.” Fulcrum was one truly confusing mech, but Flyhigh supposed that he was as well. “So I’ll be staying here to make sure you stay in this room and get the rest you need to accelerate proper self-repair. You can pick a fight after you’ve healed. Until then, I’m staying here. If you require something, tell me.”

“Aww, you’re staying by my side to make sure I rest up. How sweet.” Fulcrum grumbled. “Anyhoo, I’m gonna try and zonk out. If Blackout or whoever I pissed off this week comes by, kick him in the guts for me.” Fulcrum sounded more than a little grumpy. “Oh, and don’t worry ‘bout cleaning my berth. There’s not much on it, and I’ll chuck what’s dirty in the wash later once I’m allowed to do stuff.”

“Do you think you’ll need to refuel when you wake up?” Flyhigh asked. “I can fetch a cube for you, if you feel that you’ll need one.” 

Fulcrum let out a sigh that morphed into a yawn, mumbling something under his breath. “Sure, Fly. Thanks a million. Grab it after I hit the sack and leave it on the shelf. I’ll drink it then.” 

Flyhigh gave a small smile. “Do not thank me for helping you, Fulcrum. You are a…“ he paused a little bit, wishing he could say something else instead. “Friend.” 

Fulcrum let out a snort of amusement. “Yeah, we’re just super close friends. Anyhoozles, I’m gonna lay here and pass right the frag out. Have a good... morning or day or whatever, Flyhigh.” Fulcrum snatched a pillow and stuffed it under his helm. He reached for his blanket, and folded some of it over himself, muttering about the cold to himself. 

Flyhigh nodded. “Have a pleasant rest, Fulcrum.” He picked up his own, much larger and thicker blanket, and threw it over Fulcrum, knowing that the biplane would appreciate it. Fulcrum frequently stole it on his own due to the coldness of their room (frag the ship’s temp controls to the pits). Fulcrum opened his mouth and said something, but Flyhigh could only make out the last part of what the other had mumbled.

“—you, you dense idiot.” 

“Did you say something?” Flyhigh asked, not bothering to turn around, as he was already heading for the doorway. 

“No, you beautiful dense idiot.” Fulcrum mumbled, a little bit louder this time. “Didn’t say anything. Lemme sleep.”

“Alright then. Sweet dreams.”

“Lemme sleep, dumbass. Or I’ll...” And with that, Fulcrum began to snore. 

Flyhigh sighed softly and exited the room. He knew that Fulcrum would be there when he returned, and he’d be there when Fulcrum awoke. Flyhigh’s HUD gave a ping, informing him that he’d need to refuel soon. Seems he’d have to grab a cube for himself as well. Hopefully Fulcrum woke up soon— It was never too late for a nice breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, idiots in love. It applies to Fulcrum and Misfire in every universe. The ending of this is kinda awkward, but I love this lil oneshot nonetheless. I apologize for any formatting issues, this is my first ever fic on AO3.


End file.
